


Network of Information

by Ms_Julius



Series: SINF-week 4 [4]
Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 02:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Julius/pseuds/Ms_Julius
Summary: How does Machiavelli stay up to date with the happenings of ever changing city of Paris?





	Network of Information

**Author's Note:**

> Part 4 of SINF-week 4, prompt was "Paris/London".

As he descended into the catacombs, Machiavelli couldn’t stop the grimace rising to his face. The constant smell swirling heavily all around him was a repulsive combination of unwashed human’s stench, musty odor of a dried mold and the overlapping scent of a dusty bones and unmoving air. 

It made him question his decision every time he set a foot inside of these old underground tunnels. 

At least he had managed to ensure his current visit would be a relatively short one. The briefcase sat comfortably in his right hand, his left one curled around a closed umbrella. The sharp metal blade shone dimly at the low lighting, a custom addition Machiavelli had designed himself. He did, of course, carry a firearm with him, but he had come to notice that a quick sweep of a umbrella tended to take care of the possible attacker far faster than a pistol pulled out from its holster by his hip.

Not that he particularly expected to run into troubles during his stay, but one could never be too careful. A philosophy that had helped him through some of the most dangerous times in humankind’s history.

Machiavelli’s leather shoes made no noise as he walked past the common tourist areas of the catacombs, making his way to the deeper parts of the buried city of Paris. He did not spare a glance to the polished skulls covering the walls, nor did he acknowledge the amount of mixed trash and travel pamphlets left behind by the ungrateful visitors who saw nothing wrong in soiling the secret part of the city. They were soon passed, and while the air started to come at him a bit cleaner now, the temperature in the tunnel began to fall as he marched lower, away from the surface and the warmth of the sun.

He should let his employees take care of trivial errands such as this. A man of his status certainly had more important matters to attend to. And yet, try as he may, Machiavelli had grown accustomed to the task and found it difficult to trust it to someone else. He did have rather reliable staff working for him, but this was the type of an assignment that could raise many questions he had no desire to answer. After all, delivering a briefcase full of money to the tunnels beneath of Paris was not something one could just write out in job description.

The magician had been walking ten minutes now, rounding corners and occasionally climbing down rusty ladders all the while silently cursing the difficulty of trying to balance the briefcase and umbrella on his grasp. When he got the first look at the widening hallway before him, he let out a series of hefty sighs and rolled his shoulders around few rounds. He should definitely arrange more time to himself in order to exercise regularly. It could not be a good sign for him to be out of breath after just a few minutes of active movement, and based on the rapid beating of his heart, Machiavelli made a mental note to book a session with his local gym. He was not an athletic man by any means, but considering the current nature of his work, perhaps it’d be advantageous to make sure his rather poor physical condition wouldn’t be his downfall.

Through his labored breathing, Machiavelli’s hearing picked up a silent brush of rubber against gravel. He chose to not turn around, since he had a fairly good impression who was staring at him over the low stack of bones over his left.

“Good evening, monsieur Jarves.”

A short, sturdy man came out from his place of cover, a pale face clearly hadn’t seen a ray of sun for a long time. What little skin could be seen beneath his over-sized, stained clothes, was tainted by various smuts of soot and dirt. 

The smile dancing on his lips made up his sad appearance in seconds.

“Monsieur Machiavelli! You arrive perfectly in time, as always.” A loud laughter bounced off from the dusky walls, man’s volume more than enough to carry over to where Machiavelli was standing, his hand loosening around the handle of the briefcase.

“I prefer to take care of these matters on schedule, if possible. And I have come to notice how much more effective you’ve proven to be when paid well in advance.”

The short man howled at that, the grin on his face growing by the minute. During their few months of acquaintance, Machiavelli had observed the man’s peculiar way of always appearing as lively as a newborn foal. At first he had find it quite disturbing, but soon the habit was such a common part of their interaction that he hardly even noticed it anymore.

Jarves was looking at him with a slight glint in his eyes, glancing at the gray case. “You’ve got me there, monsieur. A poor fella like myself finds the temptation of financial compensation to be the best motivation.”

Walking closer to the other man, Machiavelli stretched out his hand and passed the bag to Jarves’ waiting arms. “The amount is the same as it was last month. I am sure you find it more than acceptable, considering I have no particular objective for you for now.”

Jarves took the case with care, popped open the lid and took a quick look inside, making sure there indeed was bundles of 100 euros’ bills tucked in. He looked pleased as he snapped the case shut, lifting his free hand to a mock salute while gazing at the tall man in front of him. When Machiavelli seemed to ignore his teasing gesture, he frowned, letting his hand fall back to his side. 

“Your recent requests have started to worry me a bit. Is there something going on that me and my group should be aware of?”

An insolent huff was to be expected, and Machiavelli carried it on by waving his hand dismissively. “Nothing of the sorts, I can assure you. Merely a personal matter of mine which I would like to solve without the public eyes’ exposure.”

Jarves did not believe him entirely, Machiavelli could see that. He had always been a talented bender of the truth, but he had caught his emotionless mask slipping far too often nowadays. Perhaps it was the stress, building up inside his head, constantly nagging in the background. He found it harder and harder to stay focused throughout the day. A doctor of his had once suggested that he might be suffering from an early signs of Alzheimer’s. An incorrect statement, and one that the good doctor would regret for years to come.

Machiavelli really did not wish to dwell on that, given a choice.

However, Jarves shrugged his shoulders, dropping the topic before Machiavelli had a chance to ask him to. “Just making sure we’re on the same page here.” His surprisingly dark eyes darted upwards, watching the magician intensely. “It’s far easier to acquire correct information if one knows what it is related to.”

Machiavelli’s own eyes grew colder as he answered to the invading stare, raising his eyebrow. “I shall fill you in with the details once I deem it necessary. At the moment, I do not see any reason to clarify my future plan to you.”

“Point taken”, Jarves said, hoisting his arms up in defeat. “But between you and me, you should watch your back for a next few weeks. I’ve heard rumors, and a mutual friend of ours is starting to get a bit restless.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Machiavelli glanced at his wristwatch, muttering quietly when he saw the time. “I should be going. There is another person I need to pay a visit before the day is over, and I’ve used my hours inefficiently.”

The air around them shifted when Jarves suddenly lunched into a dramatic bow, bending down from his waist with a flourish swing. “Then we shall meet again in four weeks.” His eyes were sharp. “Hopefully nothing drastic happens before that.”

“Yes, hopefully.” With that, Machiavelli turned on his heels, took a better grip at his umbrella, and began his long walk back to the surface. 

Jarves watched him go, waiting until the man had turned around completely before shaking his head, a pitying look forming to his face.

“We shall see.”


End file.
